Page 35 of Savage Beauty

“That’s not what I mean. I meant in Cambodia. And something is off here. If your employer wasn’t at all involved, why refuse to help your sister when she contacted them about you being missing? Instead, they insisted you fell in love and resigned. Play along with me. Use that big brain of yours.” Her lips twist, and I know she doesn’t want to hear me, but she does. I’ve lost the attention of those big brown eyes. They’re looking up into the porch rafters, but she’s listening. “Let’s say your employer is totally innocent. They get an unexpected email from you, saying you resigned without giving notice. Is that something you would do?”

The lines along her lips deepen and a few form in her brow.

“Right. A committed employee like you would never resign without giving notice. You wouldn’t willingly leave the research you love without knowing someone is carrying it forward. But let’s say your boss is super busy. She just deals with your resignation, even if it doesn’t sit right. But then your sister calls, saying you haven’t been in touch. Did your boss know about your sister?”

“Yes.” Her expression is not a happy one. I’d say it’s about the same as my little sister’s when I forced her to eat mud. “Given your research subject is so closely related to your sister, I’d bet everybody knows, right?”

No response. But then I remember something from her file. “And you don’t have any social accounts, do you?”

“LinkedIn. I’m on LinkedIn. And I follow several scientists and organizations on Threads. But I forget to check in. I have all notifications turned off.”

It’s conceivable someone followed her on social. But our guys found little from her accounts. But they were looking for social connections. What if someone was searching for someone with her skill set?

“According to Forbes, the average person spent over thirteen hundred hours on social media last year. On average, we receive sixty-three notifications a day. By turning off notifications, you can save a significant amount of time, although no one has estimated the impact or conducted a research study.”

“That’s just rolling through your head, isn’t it?” One big brown eye closes slightly, in a half-squint. “Facts and figures,” I explain. “And you just like to say them out loud.”

My phone vibrates. I’m expecting to hear from the team today. I check the screen and grimace. Ginger Moynihan. She’s been calling me. We’re in a project lull, getting our ducks in a row, so I might as well answer or eventually she’ll check in with my folks.

“I’m gonna get this. But something’s not right with your employer. For Sage’s sake, we gotta figure things out before you go waltzing in there. You on board?”

She’d better be because as a two-man team, I can’t add restraining her to my to-do list.

“Yes.” Her chin lifts. Stubborn. Defiant. I’m not at all certain she’s on board. Whatever man ends up with her is going to have his hands full. Maybe that’s why she’s single.

I step inside the villa and take a seat on the armchair facing out, so I can keep an eye on the dark-haired, stat-spewing scientist.

“Wazzup?” It’s a cheesy greeting, but it’s a relaxed one I concocted years ago after Ginger and I split and she insisted on staying in touch.

“Are you home?”

I scratch an itch on my jaw as I weigh my answer. She lives in San Diego. What does it matter? “No.” I draw out the answer, bracing for whatever madness is about to spill from her two-timing mouth.

“I need to see you.”

“Why?” Again, I draw it out. She’s married. I doubt her husband has any idea she calls me.

“Zac and I had a huge fight. We’re getting separated. It’s over for us.”

Given Zac is the guy she cheated on me with, I’m at a loss as to why she would call me. Silence falls on the line.

“Max?”

What the hell does she want me to say? “Okay.”

“Can I stay at your place? I don’t have anyone else to turn to. When do you get back?”

Fuck me. The sentiment plays on repeat in my head as I give her my address for god knows what reason. If luck falls my way, this little op will last weeks. If it doesn’t, I’ll be home and have to deal with my ex.

CHAPTER12

Sloane

“Glad you made us get here so early,” Max says. He sounds cross.

The parking lot is empty. Not a single car is in the lot. Same with the bike rack, although my bike had been the only user of the rusted metal bike stand contraption.

“Six-thirty a.m.”

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